


I'm Well Acquainted with Villians That Live in my Head: Always Keep Fighting

by aprofessorbhaer



Series: Who is in Control? (AKF) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Depression, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Men of Letters Bunker, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9708224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprofessorbhaer/pseuds/aprofessorbhaer
Summary: The reader/original character explains to Dean a thing about depression and how PAIN IS NOT A CONTEST.Basically, Dean stands in for my bad thoughts as I work through my personal issues concerning my depression.Previously titled "The Invisible Monster Inside my Head", but I changed it because now it's part of a series (surprise!) and I wanted a theme. Thus, Halsey lyrics.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a bad depressive time recently, so y'all get another fic! lol  
> I needed an outlet -shrugs-

“I just don’t understand it, kid. You said you wanted to help. You said you wanted to join us.” Dean was looking at the floor, his jaw clenched in anger or frustration.

“I do! I do want to!” I pleaded.

“How do you expect to do that if you won’t train?” His shoulders were tense, like he was holding himself in check.

“I will train, Dean! I said I’d do it if you wanted me to! I just wanted you to be aware that I may not be up for everything you and Sam are capable of—”

“And why is that, huh? Why are you some special case who doesn’t have to train as hard as Sammy and I do?”

“I didn’t say that, Dean, I just…I was diagnosed with depression in high school, and sometimes it keeps me from doing some things—”

“Oh, is that so? And when were you going to tell us that piece of information? Were we supposed to guess?”

I shrank in on myself. “I was going to tell you if it ever came up; I just didn’t want you to think of me differently.”

“Differently? Like it changes things? Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it does. You ALWAYS tell your partner about liabilities so they can compensate for you. Otherwise, you both die.”

I looked at the floor, trying not to break down in front of him. “I-It doesn’t affect me all the time. It comes and goes, and I have ways to cope with it--”

“Oh, so it’s not even predictable? That’s just great. Let me guess: it only appears when you wanna get out of something? Like, say, training?” His eyes were hard and steely, focused on me.

That sparked something in me. “Tell me, Dean: have you ever turned into something other than yourself? Changed so much that the people who know you best look at you like you’re a stranger? Don’t bother answering, I know you have.” When Dean opened his mouth anyway, I held up my hand. “Oh, no. I’m not done. Not even fucking close. You’ve said a lot, none of it I haven’t heard before, really. It’s my turn now.”

I dropped my hand and squared my shoulders. “For the past few years, I’ve had to watch the people who love me become burdened with my existence. They denied it, of course. But I saw how tired they were becoming of my symptoms, of treatments working for a while, and then stopping. I had to watch as my very existence began to wear them down.” I took a shaky breath. “And while that was happening, do you know what was going on inside my head? It was Hell. 

“And I know you’ve actually been there, so you don’t think I have a right to use that word. But what else am I supposed to call the feeling that my body and mind were killing me from the inside, out?”

I couldn’t meet his eyes or I would definitely stop. “I’ve heard depression described as being in an abusive relationship with yourself, and even though I’ve never been in one otherwise, it sounds damn accurate to me. I’d lie in the dark and just get consumed by my thoughts. 

“You start questioning everything. Do you deserve to eat? Do you deserve to be comforted? And logic doesn’t help. Because you know that it’s bullshit: people don’t deserve to eat, it’s something everyone does in order to live. But that doesn’t help how you’re feeling: you just start questioning whether you deserve to live at all. What would happen if you died? I fucking knew that my family would miss me, and they would be hurt if I died. But the voices in my head, my own thoughts, only asked if maybe they would still be better off without me.”

I clenched my hands into fists to ground myself, my fingernails cutting into my palms. “So, yes, it seems that I am weaker than the famous Dean Winchester, Hunter Extraordinaire. Who would’ve thought, right? And I don’t even have a tragic backstory to explain why I am this way. That’s what’s so fucking frustrating. I had everything I needed for a good life. But it came for me anyway.

“Whenever you weren’t yourself, you had an explanation, Dean. You were possessed, or bewitched, or the bearer of the fucking Mark of Cain. And I’m sure you’ve had to fight monsters you can’t see, right? But where you had an exorcism, or a counter-spell, or fucking glasses bathed in fucking holy fire (what the fuck), I have nothing. There is nothing I can do that will get rid of my problem, guaranteed. Because I am the monster. And I can’t exorcise myself. If I tried to kill the part of me that’s doing the damage, I’d end up killing myself. And I’ve been told that’s not an option.

“Some things can help, like pills, or writing, or music, or even fucking exercising, but this isn’t something I can just heal from, like a broken bone. I don’t even remember what I was like before this. I understand if you want me to leave, because it was a big thing to keep from you, but don’t you dare imply that every day, every time I choose to get out of bed instead of just fucking sleeping forever, is not a fucking battle won. You are not inside my head. I know that yours is no picnic, but I also know that it isn’t exactly like mine, either.”

Dean’s expression was tight, like he didn’t know how to respond. That was fucking fine with me. Maybe I’d actually get some sleep tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope someone reads this and knows that a) they're not alone in how they feel and b) they're badass as fuck for continuing to fight;) Love you!!!!


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